My parents missed the funeral of my husband and two children because it was my sister’s birthday. When I begged them to come, my father calmly said, “Today is your sister’s birthday. We can’t come.” Six months later, one headline about me sent my entire family into panic when they learned I had...

The entire room fell into a dead, suffocating silence.

My father realized the absolute magnitude of what he had just confessed.

Marcus silently stepped into the corner of the office, his hand resting casually on his holstered weapon.

I slowly stood up from my leather chair, my eyes locking onto the man who helped raise me.

"You were at the garage," I repeated, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

My father swallowed hard, taking a slow step backward toward the heavy oak doors.

"Claire, you have to understand," he stammered, the rage completely leaving his pale face.

"Daniel was going to report Greg to the federal authorities for financial fraud."

"If Greg went to prison, Vanessa would have been ruined, and our family name would be dragged through the mud."

I stared at him, feeling my stomach twist into violent knots.

"So you helped Greg cut the brake lines on my husband's car?" I asked, demanding the absolute truth.

"No!" my father cried out, shaking his head frantically.

"I did not know he was going to cut the brakes, I swear to God!"

"I thought he was just going to slash the tires to stop Daniel from driving to the prosecutor's office that morning."

"When I found out what Greg actually did, I had to help him hide the security footage from the garage."

"I did it to protect Vanessa from becoming the wife of a convicted murderer."

He had chosen Vanessa's social reputation over the lives of his own grandchildren.

He knew who murdered Emma and Noah, and he sat at a birthday dinner drinking champagne with the killer.

I reached under my desk and pressed a hidden button that stopped the active recording device.

"Get out of my building," I whispered, my voice trembling with an ungodly amount of rage.

"Claire, please," he begged, tears finally falling down his wrinkled cheeks.

"If you do not leave right now, my security chief will throw you through that glass window," I promised.

My father turned and practically ran out of the office, looking like a broken, pathetic old man.

I looked at Marcus, who was already securing the digital audio file of the confession.

"Do we take this to Detective Miller now?" Marcus asked quietly.

"Not yet," I replied, staring out at the darkening city sky.

"Greg still has twenty-four hours before the cartel comes for him."

I wanted Greg to suffer the sheer, agonizing terror of being hunted before the police ever touched him.

That night, a massive thunderstorm rolled over the city, covering the streets in heavy rain.

I was sitting in my dark living room, holding a framed picture of my children.

Suddenly, the glass of my back patio door shattered violently inward.

When my newborn 'passed away,' my mother-in-law leaned in and said

My Husband Left Me Alone in My Car While I Was in Labor

“You’re Dead When We Get Home,” He Snapped

A figure dressed in dark clothing crawled through the broken glass, holding a heavy silver handgun.

It was Greg, completely soaked in rain, looking like a cornered, rabid animal.

Chapter 6 - The House of Cards